the hangover thing is a weird dream where i can't stand up and i stumble and i can't think straight and the gravity is intense. i have it about every four nights. when i'm not busy having the dream where my teeth are falling out.
on sunday morning, i definitely had the genuine article, though. it was legit. more than a dream. it was true. any standing i was doing took sheer force of will. and when i realized my car was 10 blocks away, my phone was broken, my keys were missing and the online bus schedule wasn't working, things got severe. i probably sighed. i may have cursed the cruel world. i definitely layed on the couch pondering.
i may have considered it a 'bad day.'
i went to a bachelorette party on saturday night. i struggle to call it that. my friend bubbles, who is getting married in like two weeks, will have an actual bachelorette party this weekend. but we wanted a duluth version.
the duluth version will always be harsher than any st. cloud state graduates can follow ... believe it or not. a) this was coed. b) we live in duluth. c) we can drink harder than any "suck for a buck" shirt can dictate. d) put that tiara away.
when we got to the party, chuck was shuffled into the basement. we -- the girls -- played a pretty wholesome bachelorette party game for awhile, no one understood the rules except for jcrew, who had downloaded the rules off the internet and screamed those rules at the top of her perfectly perky lungs.
when we changed the rules to make more sense, she grew confused. and ... louder? no one noticed. everyone had gotten shitface within about 8 minutes. stupid wine.
and then there was the exotic dancer, grinding on air to george michael. as the other boys came upstairs.
it was a totally fun night, but for about two days afterward i could feel my spleen. one should not feel her internal organs throbbing when she wakes. this concerned me.later i was reminded that we all, as drunk adult idiots, stood on the porch reciting robert frost poetry in elementary school children voices. the whole sing songy "natures first green is gold" poem. that "stay gold pony boy" nonsense.
also. jcrew started her hair on fire reaching for something on the buffet table. that smell was worse than sticking my head in the belly of a whale. but she made up for it by falling asleep with a hot pocket in her mouth and waking seven hours later. still alive.
i've decide that october is now oct-sober.
in octsober i will do this:
1. read as much david foster wallace as is possible. an independent study, post college. even though reading him is like watching british sitcoms.
you're like: i know this is english, but i don't get it. maybe after some time ... i'm reading 'a supposidely fun thing ...' right now it's not working. i'm going to keep trying.
2. run my ass off.
3. eat some salads, for the love of christ.